


My Shy Tevinter Rose

by FlitShadowflame



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, M/M, Modern Thedas, Praise Kink, Wham Splat Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5015146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlitShadowflame/pseuds/FlitShadowflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wham! Splat! Porn!, prompt was "gardening."  I am too tired to give a decent summary, ask again tomorrow.  Modern not-quite-flower-shop AU.  Plant nursery AU?  Is that a thing? Not edited or proofread yet, apologies for any typos or errors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Shy Tevinter Rose

It starts, strangely enough, with a flower.

Dorian would have remembered if he'd sold it to a Qunari that massive, so it must have been a gift. The Tevinter roses are smaller than Dorian's thumbnail in full bloom, and the elegantly styled bush has been trained into a whirlpool bonsai form.

He does remember the plant - he sold it less than a week ago, to a young man from Dorian's home country. The lad's name escapes him, but he'd been handsome and Dorian had been distracted by trying to flirt with him.

What distracts him now, mid-purchase of the out-of-print book he's buying from the dusty little secondhand shop, is how _awful_ the rosebush looks. He knows, of course, that once he sells one of his creations they are out of control and no longer his responsibility, but he nonetheless despairs at the poor little thing, half-wilted and half-waterlogged.

"Oh, he's not doing very well at all," he fusses, taking the pot plant and turning it gently.

"Yeah, normally I do okay with plants but this one can't make up its mind on what it wants," the Qunari grouses. "Krem's gonna give me shit if it dies, too."

"Krem?" Dorian asks, wondering if that might be the other Tevinter's name.

"I told him I'd been looking for Tevinter roses so when he finally found a place that sold 'em he jumped. But he said they cost an arm and a leg, so, yeah, he'll be pissed if I kill it before it's been here a week."

Dorian tuts. "He wasn't paying for the rosebush, he was paying for the bonsai training. If he'd just wanted roses he could have said something."

The Qunari raises an eyebrow, and Dorian can't believe he didn't notice the eyepatch until just now.

"Well, it's not a forgettable specimen," Dorian says with a haughty sniff. He taps the botany book he'd selected. "And I run a fairly small shop. Tevinter boy buys Tevinter rosebush, that's easy to remember."

"Well, since you're the expert - any advice for my sickly little guy?" the Qunari offers a hesitant smile.

Dorian inspects the leaves. It seems a little improved since the conversation...ah. He bit his lip. "The young man - Krem? - he did tell you that you have to talk to the roses, didn't he?"

"What, really? I've heard that's good for plants but no one ever said it was _required_ before. And I talk plenty, over the course of the day."

"Tevinter roses are vain," Dorian says awkwardly. "Mine especially so. It's not enough just to talk. They like flattery." He coughs. "Love poems work well, actually."

"You're shitting me, 'Vint," the Qunari says, but he seems amused rather than angry, at least.

Dorian wrinkles his nose. "I shit you not." He digs out one of his cards.

_Dorian Pavus, purveyor of exotic plants,_ the front declares, with an address, email, and phone number. The back boasts a single, stylized rosebud on a long stem, next to basic, general plant care instructions - sun, water, plenty of soil if you repot, don't forget drainage, and then, at the very bottom, _Talk to us and we'll grow up big and strong/Read us poems, sing a romantic song/We do our best with sun, water, and care/But it's your voice we'd really like to hear._

"If you were aiming for iambic pentameter, your meter is shit," the Qunari grumbles. "And hear doesn't rhyme with care."

"Shut up," Dorian growls. "That's not the point. I'm not joking about the plants, I never joke about plants. Especially not Tevinter roses. My grandmother brought the cultivar back from extinction, they've been part of my mother's family crest since time immemorial. They like to be talked to, and the tone matters. So do the words. I wrote my entire doctoral thesis on it. All plants like to be talked to, but Tevinter roses grow to prefer the voice they know best, and they like poetry and songs in particular, especially romantic ones."

The Qunari just blinks at him slowly, in a passable imitation of a qalaba.

"Change nothing else, over the next week, except to recite a poem for the plant. It can be the same one every time, even. Some roses have favorites."

Another blink.

"If you see no improvement in the course of a week then I will reimburse your...Krem...and let you figure out how to fix it on your own. Or take it back, if you prefer."

Large grey hands tugged the pot to the other side of the checkout desk. "Alright, 'Vint. Dr. Pavus. Whatever. But if this is a bet, what do you get if you win?"

" _When_ I win," Dorian corrects, "I'll accept a bottle of Sun-blonde in remuneration."

"Alright," the Qunari says, starting to smile again. "As long as you don't mind sharing it with me. Because I'd rather have dinner with you than get saddled with a dying plant on my own when there's a perfectly good botanist down the street."

Dorian goes red. "I - very well," he says stiffly.

He leaves without the book he'd come for, and feels too stupid over the whole affair to show his face in the shop again to fetch it.

It's almost a relief when the young 'Vint returns to Dorian's shop the next day with a paper-wrapped parcel. "Bull said you left this," Krem mumbled, letting it thump gracelessly onto the countertop. Dorian makes an anguished noise before the words hit him fully (given that he has to translate them first).

"Bull?'

"The Iron Bull. Owns the Bull in the China Shop secondhand store, 'We specialize in Dragon Age antiquities,' also known as the place you bought this bloody book at," Krem says testily, rapping on the cover sharply. Dorian pulls the book away from his violent handling and cradles it.

"He didn't mention his name," Dorian says dismissively.

"Figures. He said to tell you he's using the Randy Dowager. But didn't say for what, so don't ask. Personally, I'm sure I don't want to know," Krem shakes his head. "Anyway...don't leave your purchases next time, Altus. I'm not an errand boy."

Ah. Some of the overt resentment is explained, then. Dorian stares at the door long after Krem leaves.

He's reasonably sure he never actually paid for the book. The Qunari - Bull - had rung him up, and he'd had his card, but then they got to talking and he...the beast had made that silly comment, made it into some kind of _date_.

Something to think about, he supposes. Wait, did Krem say - 

"The Randy Dowager?" Dorian repeats incredulously. "That smutty filth? And he's reading it to one of my specially imported, individually trained, and carefully propagated roses?"

#

Scarcely four days later, Krem is back in Dorian's shop, looking world-weary and disdainful. He thrusts out a fist, which holds a delicate sprig of...oh, it's a cutting from Bull's plant. The little roses are bright and healthy and blossoming, and Dorian can't help but smile to see it.

"And there's a letter," Krem adds with enormous disgust in his tone. He slaps the letter on the counter, drops the cutting on top, and turns on his heel to hasten out the door.

Dorian tends to the cutting first, finding a reasonably sized vase to set it in. If he's careful he may be able to grow another plant entirely from this little twig.

The letter, he doesn't open until he's in the privacy of his own apartment (just above the flowershop, certainly makes commuting easy). The hand is large, but then, so are the Iron Bull's. It reads easy, at least.

Dear Dr. Dorian Pavus,  
Your advice was, I'm sure you're unsurprised to hear, entirely correct. Pinky is doing very well now. I think she appreciated having a name, too.

If you'd like to join me, I'm at the Skyhold Bar most nights, usually from seven PM to midnight. Drop by some time and I'll get you that sun-blonde I owe you.

Affectionately yours,  
The Iron Bull

It takes two or three days to work up the nerve, but Dorian goes. Not for the Iron Bull's company, of course. Just for the alcohol. Cheap Fereldan beer is all he usually buys himself, so a bottle of real sun-blonde would be a treat, a reminder of better days.

But then, if he's here for the alcohol, what's the harm in staying for a few extra rounds, as "Bull" is happy to continue supplying him? Dorian isn't blind, either. He knows what those looks mean, and he's finding himself more and more interested in the prospect as the night goes on.

"You alright there, big guy?" Bull asks when Dorian sways in his chair and leans against Bull's side to steady himself.

"Mmmm. Bed, I think. Anyone's will do," Dorian breathes, not-quite nuzzling Bull's arm.

The Qunari's muscles tense, and then he's hauling Dorian to his feet. "Do you have any idea how devastating it is when you really smile?" he asks even as he helps Dorian into the street. "I don't mean that in the 'I'm blinded by your gorgeousness' sense, so you shouldn't smirk. It actually kind of hurts to see, because you look so damn surprised. Like you never expected to feel happy. I don't know who the fuck told you not to expect, demand, happiness now and then, but somehow I have a feeling the same person is responsible for the fact that you seem to think you need to be drunk off your ass to flirt with a man and practically unconscious when you start implying he can just have sex with you, like it doesn't matter one way or the other how you feel about it after." Bull shakes his head. "I thought Krem was fucked up, but he's not, not really. Looks like Tevinter just _does_ that to a kid."

Dorian manages, on the third try, to grab one of Bull's horns and tug him down so he can speak, a little too loudly, in the man's ear.

"I had a nice time," he says, and then giggles breathlessly. "If you don't want me hammered, then you don't invite me to bar and buy drinks all night," he chides without heat. Trade is starting to escape him, so he rushes the next bit, kissing Bull's ear before pulling back just enough to say, "Take me to movies. Always wanted to fuck in a theater. Not now. Later. Sober-later, promise."

Bull laughs. "I'm not holding you to any promises you make when you're this shitfaced. But I'll gladly take you to the movies if you still want to go when you're sober."

Bull somehow gets him up the narrow stairs to his apartment, takes off his jacket and shoes, and pours Dorian into bed with a fond smile. He even sets out a glass of water and some painkillers, though Dorian is unaware of this until the following morning.

That alone makes him feel a bit obliged to go on a second "date," assuming Bull geniunely wants another.

#

They do not actually fuck in the movie theater, but when Dorian gets bored, he sucks Bull off. He gets bored three times. Bull drags Dorian into his lap after, each time, shoves his hand in Dorian's trousers and kisses him to keep him quiet. The evening makes an interminably long and dull biopic into Dorian's new favorite film.

#

It's difficult to know for certain, but Dorian likes to think he wouldn't be semi-dating the Iron Bull if the man had actually killed his rosebush. Bull had _listened_ , was the thing. And he'd been honest about it.

Dorian manages to know the man fully three months before he learns what Bull actually says to the damn plant.

He comes into Bull in a China Shop while Krem's on the till and gets too absorbed in a book to notice Bull taking the lad's place. He does look up when he hears Bull's voice, that's perfectly normal...especially when Bull uses _that_ tone, the one which clearly says "I'm about three seconds from pressing you into the nearest flat surface and giving you the ride of your life."

He can't actually make out the words at first, so he inches closer, wondering why in the Void Bull is using a tone like that on someone who isn't Dorian.

"...like this before. I've had plenty of good times with good people, some of them more than once and occasionally more than one at a time. But none of them looked at me like - the way he does. He deflects and dodges but he gets so vulnerable when he's taking my cock, I can read him like a book, and every ounce of him says he never thought he was worthy of this. I want to kill every man who ever treated him like he didn't deserve more than a quick fuck, but mostly I want to spend the rest of my life convincing him that he _does_. I'm just not sure how to reconcile that with my burning need to fuck him over every piece of furniture I own and quite a few that I don't."

Dorian can scarcely believe that Bull is saying all of this to his Tevinter rosebush, and discovering it shocks him so badly that he draws in a noisy, sharp breath.

Bull's head jerks up and his silver-grey cheeks get a touch of violet. "Hear anything you like, 'Vint?" he asks with a broad, foolish grin, a transparent attempt to mask the sensitivity of the topic. Dorian strides forward as he speaks, because it's selfish to learn such a thing about Bull and give no truths of his own.

"Eavesdropping is the only way I heard my parents speak to each other, as a child, and was always how I learned the juiciest gossip. A lifetime's habit is hard to break. There's a saying in Tevinter, it doesn't translate well, but the gist is - 'An enemy learns how to hurt you. Your blood know you well enough to recognize your hurt. But the one who cares, who grieves to see you harmed, this one can never be insulated enough from your enemy's eyes.' A lucky Altus may have one or two friends he considers that important, that special. A mistress, perhaps, or a parent. But such devotion must be private; no one should even know there is any person who means more to you than another. I never thought I'd have anyone I felt the need to guard." He strokes Bull's face. "And yet, I can't imagine a life spent hiding you."

In lieu of a reply, Bull picks Dorian up, flips the switch for the sign on the door, and hauls ass to the back room. "You are - so fucking - ridiculous, and gorgeous, and I need to fuck you right now."

"Please do," Dorian purrs, and then gasps when Bull shoves him facedown on the table. Bull is usually so careful about his strength, a point of some contention between them. As Dorian had commented only a week ago, "What's the point in having a hulking giant of a lover if he never gives it to me rough and fast up against a wall?"

Bull yanks Dorian's pants down, tearing something in his haste and not giving half a damn. Lube, he pulls from his own pocket, fingers shaking a little as he greases them. "Relax, kadan, I've got you," he says, kissing Dorian's shoulderblade. Some of the tension bleeds out of the moment and Dorian manages to spread his legs a little more even tangled up in his slacks. Bull can work the first finger in without too much trouble; they've been doing it enough lately that Dorian's somewhat accustomed to the stretch. Bull doesn't just want him gritting his teeth and bearing it, though. He flexes his finger, pressing against Dorian's inner walls until he strikes on - 

"Fuck, Bull!"

\- Dorian's prostate. Bull is wound way too tight to handle being inside Dorian right now, though, and Dorian is already in that mewling stage he gets to when he's on the verge of coming.

Bull makes a mental note to throw Dorian around more regularly, if this is the result. He leans further down, biting hard at Dorian's neck, and rubs his finger forcefully against Dorian's prostate. "Come for me, Dorian, that's a good boy," he hums, before biting down again.

A punched-out whimper and Dorian spills. Bull takes that moment to guide a second finger into Dorian's entrance, drinking in the soft whines and grunts. "Such a good boy," he says, stretching Dorian open much faster than usual, but receiving not a word of complaint. "That's it, open up," Bull croons, and Dorian cries out when a third finger breaches him.

Cries out, "Maker, please! Bull!"

"'Please' what, kadan?" Bull teases.

"Fuck me, fuck me _now_ ," Dorian says with the cutest little growl in his tone. Bull barely contains a pleased laugh.

"Of course," is all Bull says before he draws back, slicks his cock, and grips Dorian by the back of the neck, pinning him in place. The mage goes boneless in his grasp, and the first thrust is easier than Bull has any right to expect. "So fucking gorgeous like this," Bull moans, nuzzling Dorian's neck. "Beautiful, beautiful boy. Just relax."

Dorian's pretty sure if he gets any more relaxed he'll fall asleep, except he can't imagine missing a single second of this. His cock is straining to fill again, and he's sure that by the time Bull finishes, he'll have delivered Dorian's second orgasm, but the thing that he can't help focusing on is the possessive hand on his neck, the soothing weight of it. He is unaware of his fingers scrabbling at the table, of his little moans and whimpers. He doesn't hear Bull's soothing words, barely processes the tone. His whole world is that hand on his neck and Bull's cock fucking him slowly, so painfully slowly that Dorian is crying with need, begging him to go faster.

"Come for me, kadan, one more time," Bull murmurs in his ear, and Dorian doesn't even process the command before his body obeys, he's just that desperate. Bull growls and snaps his hips faster, two, three more times before filling Dorian with seed.

"Fuck," Dorian says weakly. Even when Bull pulls back with a sigh and cleans them up, Dorian is too spent to move. He remains sprawled over the table until Bull sidles up to him again, kissing Dorian's back and humming softly.

"Am I gonna have to carry you home, baby?" Bull asks, grinning.

Dorian groans in protest and manages, barely, to straighten up. "Not until I'm dressed," is his only stipulation, which Bull can absolutely work with. He tugs Dorian's slacks up again, zipping the fly and noting a bit sheepishly that the button was torn off at some point. "Carry me," Dorian says pitifully, stretching his arms out, and Bull scoops him up without hesitation.

Even two months ago, this sort of thing would have been unimaginable to Dorian. Have his Qunari boyfriend bridal-carry him down the street and into his apartment? Laughable. Returning to Tevinter and his overbearing parents seemed more likely, then.

But then, a few months before that he would never have imagined a battle-scarred Qunari fretting over a bush of tiny Tevinter roses, either.


End file.
